


The Cooper House

by satelliteinasupernova



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, F/M, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Horror, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satelliteinasupernova/pseuds/satelliteinasupernova
Summary: “Let’s go to a haunted house, Jughead,” Jellybean had said. “It’ll be fun,” she said.Except, now he was turned around somewhere in a dark hallway; alone. With no source of light nearby, he could barely make out his surroundings. Tentatively, he reached out to use the wall to guide him, taking one step at a time.  The surface of the wall was uneven and with each step he felt another notch as his hand moved across one panel of wood to the next.  The floor creaked softly under his feet.  Here in the dark, it was unnervingly quiet. The only other sound he could hear was of the wind passing through the trees outside the house.“Hey, JB?” he called out. “Where the hell did you go?”





	The Cooper House

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [kayromantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayromantic) and [RunaLiore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunaLiore) for beta-ing!
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone!

“Let’s go to a haunted house, Jughead,” Jellybean had said. “It’ll be fun,” she said.

Except, now he was turned around somewhere in a dark hallway; alone. With no source of light nearby, he could barely make out his surroundings. Tentatively, he reached out to use the wall to guide him, taking one step at a time.  The surface of the wall was uneven and with each step he felt another notch as his hand moved across one panel of wood to the next. The floor creaked softly under his feet. Here in the dark, it was unnervingly quiet. The only other sound he could hear was of the wind passing through the trees outside the house.

“Hey, JB?” he called out. “Where the hell did you go?”

 

Only half an hour earlier, he had been standing on the front porch of the vacant victorian house with Jellybean and Archie, as a custodian covered in zombie makeup unlocked the door for them. Instead of a guided tour, JB had offered to direct them herself. With a business-like air, she pulled up Wikipedia on her phone, as though she didn’t already know the tale of the famous Cooper home by heart.

The house had been redecorated and rebranded as a haunted attraction years ago. In keeping with the season, the porch now had a set of kitschy purple lights strung out across the railing and a collection of pumpkins along the stairs that were obviously the hollow, plastic kind that they sold at craft stores.

Jellybean cleared her throat, then began, projecting her voice like an actor on center stage. “Here we are at the dreaded Cooper house, where a century ago, the town of Riverdale was shaken to the core upon the discovery of the deaths of the entire Cooper family.”

“The first to come upon the scene was the local sheriff, after the neighbors had called to report screams coming from the inside house. What he found was a bloodbath. The entire family: Dead. Mrs. Cooper was found in her bed, a gunshot to the head. Dead. The eldest, their only son, was found in the bedroom doorway, a gunshot to the heart. Dead. The eldest daughter was found halfway down the stairs, a gunshot to her back. Dead. The youngest daughter, however, was found in the bedroom hallway, across from her father, a bloody pair of scissors tight in her hand. Her father, a few feet away, was found with a bloody rifle in his arms and deep stab wounds all over his body. Worst of all, when they turned his corpse onto his back, his face was caked with blood, running down his face from where a sharp object had been buried in his right eye.”

“Rumors began on what could have caused such horror. A curse? Witchcraft? Those theories were put to rest when the sheriff’s office reported the case closed. They announced that Mr. Cooper had shot each of the members of his family, but the youngest, Elizabeth, had fought back, taking him down with her even as she suffered through a gunshot wound to the stomach.”

“Shit,” Archie had said.

Jughead looked over at him, incredulously, “You really don’t know anything about this house? We had a whole project on it in the 6th grade.”

Archie just shrugged.

 

Middle school had been the start of Jughead’s true crime obsession, and it had all begun with this house. Books, articles, tv specials—he’d practically devoured them. It was his hometown after all, and what information there was to be found was just waiting for him, in its own small section of the town library. He’d come snooping around this house many times, back when an old couple had still lived there. He would peer into the window from the front lawn, hoping to catch some remnant of that night a century ago. Maybe even the shadow of a ghost walking the halls. That was before a buyer came along and saw it as an easy way to make a profit. The old couple had moved to Florida, or wherever old couples go to live out their retirement, and the house had been filled to the brim with knick knacks and memorabilia. For Jughead, it had lost its mystery then and he had all but dismissed it.

 

The plan between Jughead and JB had originally been to go to Greendale. The haunted attractions there may not have been any more legitimate, but at least didn’t have that bitter taste of betrayal Jughead felt about the Cooper House. Of course, that was until he’d had the bright idea to invite Archie to come with them.

“Yeah, man.” Archie had answered, stuffing pizza in his mouth at the Jones’ small dinner table while JB searched for haunting locations on Jughead’s laptop. “You know, I’ve never even been to that Cooper house. I know it’s supposed to be the Riverdale rite of passage, or whatever.”

Jellybean stopped dead in her tracks, “You’ve never been to the Cooper House?”

Archie glanced up at her, his mouth full of pizza and just shook his head.

“No, no, no.” She turned immediately back to the laptop, “Change of plans. We have to go.”

Jughead tried his best to fight it, but Archie was just amused by the whole thing, and Jellybean was insistent. No complaints from Jughead would budge her. And so here they were, at the Cooper house.

 

Except now, Jughead was completely lost.

He knew the layout of the house front to back, so he had no idea how he had even managed to actually get lost in it. The three of them had made their way upstairs before they had been separated, which placed him somewhere near the bedrooms. As he took a few steps forward, he could just make out a thin line of light from under a door down the hall.

When he finally reached it, he fumbled for the door knob, and the door eased open with a long, grating screech.

The room was well lit. He had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted. In the corner of his periphery, something moved. He jumped back before he could even processed what it was.

Sitting in a wooden chair, a book open in her lap, was a young woman dressed up in early century clothes. Her dress was long enough to touch the floor, and a sash was tight around her waist. Her blond hair was loose on her shoulders, with part of it tied up with a ribbon.

He took a deep breath, feeling foolish about his immediate reaction to finding someone occupying a lit room.

As she turned to look at him, she closed her book quickly, snapping it shut. When their eyes met, he was taken aback. She looked eerily familiar.

“Uh…” he began, awkwardly, “Sorry. I took a wrong turn somewhere, and got separated from my group.” Of course, JB had said nothing about their being employees dressed in costume around the house. Knowing her, she hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise.

The young woman looked at him with interest as she stood up, setting her book on a small table nearby. She motioned with her hand and whispered, “Come in.”

As he took a step into the room, cracking the door behind him, she walked over to the bedside table and picked up an oil lamp. As she pulled out a matchbox from the drawer, he took a moment to look around. Other parts of the house had been decked up with creepy paraphernalia, but this room was different. There was a small bookcase filled to the brim with old books, each slightly aged. It was a beautiful collection that reminded Jughead of the archives of books stored at the town hall that he had envied since he was a kid. There were disturbed blankets on the bed and draped over the chair that she had been sitting in. The room felt legitimately lived in.

When the girl turned toward him, a lit lamp now in hand, he realized why she had looked so familiar. Closer up, he could see that she was the spitting image of the youngest Cooper daughter. Uncannily so.

As she took a few steps toward him, he couldn’t help but study her face. There were only a few lasting photos of the Cooper family, but when he was younger he had obsessed over every one of them. This girl looked exactly like her.

“What is your name?” she asked.

He paused. He always attempted to be cavalier when he introduced himself. He’d learned not to be self-conscious about the look it would earn him, and instead said his name every time with a bit of rebellion. Right now, in front of this distractingly pretty girl who could have easily just stepped out of an early 20th century photograph, for the first time in a long time, he was almost nervous about it. “Jughead. Jughead Jones.”

She looked amused, but only said, “It’s nice to meet you, Jughead Jones. I’m-”

“Elizabeth,” he offered, automatically.

She laughed briefly, her nose wrinkling as she nodded at him with a smile. It was a disarmingly cute look. “Right, but everyone calls me Betty.”

He felt his curiosity eating at him. In a small town like this, where exactly had they found someone who looked identical to Elizabeth to play the part?

Maybe she was a distant relative, he considered. The Coopers did have relatives, right?

“Here,” she said, reaching out to take his hand, “Let me help you find your friends.” She pulled him back out into the hallway.

Now with light, he could see that this part of the house had been completely untouched by the tacky decorations downstairs, and looked exactly how he imagined the house to look at the time of the crime. Wood paneling, clean paint. He could see the dark lines in the wood floor that creaked under their feet. Betty took careful, quiet steps, as if to dampen the sound they made.

Instead of focusing on those things, on the house that he had long obsessed over, he found himself distracted by the feeling of holding Betty’s hand. Her hand was cold, but soft against his own.

She led him down the hall quietly, but he felt compelled to talk to her. He tried to think of what he could start with.

So, what do you like to do in your spare time?

How did you end up working here?

I bet you’ve seen some interesting people, working in a place like this.

Every line came out in his head in Archie’s voice. Wasn’t it in bad taste to flirt with a girl while she was working? In his mind’s eye, Archie responded with a shrug.

As Betty turned them around the corner to a hallway leading to the other bedrooms, Jughead froze, causing her to stop with him. There was a trail of blood across the floor.

She held his hand tighter, her shoulders set. “It’s alright,” she whispered.

He let her continue to lead him, although the sight of the blood, fake or not, left a bitter taste in his mouth. He awkwardly side stepped a wide puddle of blood, and took a deep breath. They followed the trail. The blood ran the full length of the hallway, as though a body had been dragged across it. As they turned another corner, there was light again, coming from further down the hall. He could just make out the entryway to the stairs from where they stood. They would just have to pass the master bedroom to reach it.

There was considerably more blood in this part of the house. It was caked on the floor, splattered across the walls. Betty took careful steps, one at a time to avoid walking in it. Jughead matched each of her steps, following hers exactly.

It was so quiet that the only sound Jughead could hear was his own breathing.

Just as they were about to pass by the door of the master bedroom, a loud, echoing clatter shattered the silence.

Betty froze, her hand gripping his like a vice. Slowly, she turned back to him, her eyes brightened by the lamp in her other hand. This time, she looked terrified. She had lost all color in her face. Remaining silent, she shook her head firmly, just once, and put a hand on Jughead’s shoulder, turning him around. She left her hand on his back, and directed him to walk forward, back the way they came.

His heart was pounding in his ears. Was this all just an act?

He followed her direction, but glanced back at her face between steps. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to be rational. He wanted to tell her that it had probably just been Archie being an idiot and accidentally knocking something over, but he didn’t dare speak.

When they reached the end of the blood trail, Betty took a step ahead of him, taking his hand again, and pulling him along quickly. She held out the lamp and walked forward resolutely. Leading them past Elizabeth’s bedroom, to the end of the hall. She stopped in front of a small closet door.

A sound echoed from behind them. Footsteps, one after the other.

After one quick glance back, Betty pulled Jughead forward placing herself between him and the approaching noise. She held up her oil lamp for him to take, and whispered, “It will be alright, Jughead. I know how to make sure my father doesn’t find you.” She was so close to him, looking up with brilliant green eyes. She smiled, just briefly, her eyes never leaving his. It was just a small turn of the lips, and was quickly gone, but it left him feeling warm, even as the footsteps grew louder.

Quickly, Betty searched the pockets of her dress, and pulled out a large, brass key. She slid it into the lock and pulled the door open carefully. The hinges made the barest of noises, but at the sound the footsteps down the hall suddenly stopped.

Jughead held his breath as Betty ushered him inside, shutting the door behind them.

The only source of light between them was the lamp in Jughead’s hand. The closet was barely large enough to fit them both. They were scrunched in between a rack full of heavy wool jackets. Betty pushed past them to reach the very back of the closet, and pulled him along with her.

“There is more than one way to travel through this house. Did you know?” Betty asked, with unexpected levity. There was an amused gleam in her eye as she pulled a wooden panel from the wall to reveal a passage behind it.

“No,” he said as he knelt forward, shining the lamp into the passage, “I didn’t know that.”

“Come,” she whispered, as she slid inside, “Watch your step.”

Just beyond the open panel was a set of old, dusty wooden steps. There was barely enough room between the walls for one person to fit. As they slowly descended, Jughead thought he could hear the sound of voices from the other side of the wall. As they got closer to the bottom, the voices became clearer.

“I can’t believe Jug just left us. I had a plan. There’s a narrative thread that you have to follow.”

“This place gives me the creeps.” Jughead heard the barest quiver in Archie’s voice.

“It’s a haunted house, that’s kind of the point.”

At the base of the stairs was another small closet-sized door. Betty turned and smiled up at him, and reached a hand out for the lamp. “I think we’ve found them, Jughead.”

Jughead stepped forward. The landing in front of the door was small, and they were once again standing just a few inches away from each other. “Yeah, uh, Thank you. Betty.” There was so much more that he wanted to say, but in the moment, words were failing him. The panic from upstairs was leaving him, and what remained were the fragments of questions he couldn’t quite put together.

She reached over for the handle of the door, but before opening it, she looked up at him one more time. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jughead Jones. I hope it won’t be for the last time.”

He only managing to respond, softly, “Me too,” before she opened the door and pushed him through.

 

He was back in the living room of the house, where a plastic skeleton was sitting on a red velvet couch next to a tray of plastic food and a cup of tea. The sudden juxtaposition was so jarring that for a moment, Jughead just stared blankly at it.

“There you are,” JB called, impatiently. “You totally ditched us.”

“No,” he responded automatically, “I just…” He turned back to the door he’d come through, but it had been shut. He’d never heard it close. “I just got turned around.”

Archie approached them, looking a bit green in the face, “Uh, guys. You think we can head out now? This place is going to give me nightmares.”

JB huffed, throwing her hands up, “This trip was a complete failure. We didn’t even get around to hunting for ghosts. I downloaded a ghost detecting app and everything.” She headed out toward the front door, her steps pounding in obvious frustration.

Archie followed her, but not after turning to give Jughead an apologetic smile.

As Jughead followed them to the front door, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

The main stairs were just across from the front door. Resting on a table at the top of the landing was the lit oil lamp, just about to burn out, as if saying goodbye.


End file.
